


i will always carry you.

by JustCharlieBruh



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Gen, Judas and Charles are my boys and Lila is my girl, Retribution spoilers no doubt lol, bad things happen bingo: Grief/Mourning and Fevers, hey look more backstory for Kit, judas just wanted his rent money, kit is delusional, suicide ideation, survivors guilt big time, the doctor's an ass, the spoilers are just very faint but better safe than sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCharlieBruh/pseuds/JustCharlieBruh
Summary: In which Kit gets sick and Heartbreak is thought about. Being Judas is suffering and Dr. Charles 'Jekyll' Galeotti is a bit of a prick.(Poem comes from Charles Bukowski. It fits Kit's feelings towards Anathema)





	i will always carry you.

They’ve never been one to complain about warmth, but this-

This could never be considered warmth.

They swallow dryly with a sandpaper tongue, scraping their palette as their skin is hot to the point of discomfort. Their fingers and toes curl and uncurl as they shiver under their covers. Kit is pretty sure they’ve sweated through the blankets and the sheets, but would anyone care at this point? It’d be hard-pressed to find anyone in this dingy town who did.

Their head swims as they try to keep their eye open, the worn mattress poking a spring into their lower back and keeping them from fully drifting off to sleep. The other eye is still amateurly wrapped up gauze and medical tape, what with their having to do the best they could. The dear doctor’s rates were far higher than they could steal and even then, going to him meant owing him and owing someone is the last thing they want right now. Nausea tugs them this way and that and for a moment, they do heavily consider getting out of bed to hobble down the street to his bullet-hole ridden office. And in their delirium, they wonder for just a split second, if they’re going to die here. Barely conscious on this dirty mattress in this rundown apartment in a barely held together building with its questionable landlord, it settles in their brain that death, after everything- the Farm, Heartbreak, Lila- could come here of all places. It could be the fever that takes them or stray bullets, or even the lingering pieces of Heartbreak inside them.

Because she is theirs and they are hers; they’re one in the same now. The Farm had made sure of it, had boosted their powers with hers until they couldn’t be controlled anymore. Until they had enough.

Enough.

Through their bedroom window shines innocuous sunlight, softly touching everything in its path as Kit huddles in the darker corners of the room. They’ve always liked the dark more, never truly being comfortable in the light. No, the light had always been suited more for Anathema. Their bright smile and just as bright personality; they’d always been the one Kit confided in, the one Kit had always thought the most invincible.

Nothing could ever hurt Anathema except-

Except for themself and Heartbreak, in its infinite curiosity and rage and need for everything to disappear, knew that. Heartbreak used that against Anathema and now, in a sense, they’d become a part of Heartbreak. Or Heartbreak had become a part of them. They shudder, the implications setting in their bones. What killed Anathema now flows through their veins, helps to keep them alive even now, as their body fights its illness.

They let out a sob before they can even try to stop themself. The sound is foreign in their ears, they’ve never been a loud crier, but the hitch in their chest and the growing pain behind their eye is ever familiar. They’d always pushed away dealing with it, with everything, but right now there’s nothing else to do. They’re stuck in their bed, limbs heavy like lead as their mind grows darker and darker.

So they let it out. For now, in the inky darkness of the corner of their room as the world outside turns on, ever bright.

The rage, ever present and simmering under their skin. 

The grief, so heavy they thought their chest would cave. It only hurt to breathe, vision too blurry with tears as their body shakes with fast falling tears. It engulfs them, cradles them in a parody of an embrace as they twist and turn and bite their lip from being too loud.

And guilt spreads its arms wide, settling over their body as they remember: Anathema brushing their hair; the way their eyes would sparkle as Kit purposefully asked questions that’d annoy Ortega; the flowers they’d give Kit. Kit remembers these, remembers the way Ortega’s smile would always turn a little bit brighter with Anathema there, no longer slightly awkward in the face of Kit’s childishness. How Steel would relax ever so slightly, no longer feeling like he was the only one who could keep an eye on Kit with them in the room. They remember this and a small, insidious part of them whispers, _it should have been you. You should have been the one to die that day, not them._

And their sobbing grows louder as the heat turns uncomfortable and their pillow becomes wet with sweat and tears. They barely hear the front door creak open, the pause in steps as they practically wail and—

They start, bedroom door opening in a wide arc. It takes a few moments for their eyes to focus and once they do, they can’t believe it, can’t believe who they see.  
  
“Anathema,” they croak, “are you finally here to kill me?”

Anathema pauses, eyes wide as they take a tentative step, like they can’t believe what they’re seeing, “Moony?” 

Kit frowns, “Moony? You never called me by my last name ‘fore, Themmy. But…” their brow furrows as they try to find what they were going to say. Eyes as green as their acid stare at them like this is the first time they’ve met, the dirty blonde hair shorter than normal and- They find the rest of their thought, “but time changes things— _people_ and...and I can’t expect you not to have changed too, right?” They snort, half-hysterical and most definitely delirious if they’re hallucinating about the person they love— _loved_ most. “I mean, look at me,” and they raise a lead-heavy limb to motion at themself, joints aching, “I lost my eye three days ago and I lost—” It takes them a moment of blurry vision to realized they’re crying again, but they want Anathema to _know_ so they keep going, “I lost Lila; she was so nice to me Themmy. She didn’t care that I was—”

And they stop, because Anathema didn’t know that. But Anathema’s dead. And the dead don’t tell tales, right?  
  
“That you were…?” They step closer, like Kit is some wild animal about to lunge instead of pull them into a hug. Kit wants to hug them so bad. But if Kit does and Anathema is solid, won’t that mean Anathema is alive— Alive and able to speak and won’t react well to them being—  
  
“That I’m _me_ , Themmy,” and a cold— for once in their life, they love the cold— kinda clammy hand brushes against their forehead. They lean into it, a soft noise coming from their torn throat as Anathema leans back with a hiss. “Themmy, does seeing you mean I finally get to die?”  
  
And Anathema’s mouth twists like the time Kit asked them if they liked Ortega and they answered with a ‘hell no’. Their eyes are alight with something Kit can’t decipher as they take in a deep breath through their nose. The noise they make is cracked and uncertain and nothing like Anathema but then again, they aren’t how they used to be either.

“Do you want to die?” Comes the question, unease dripping from each consonant and a sort of sadness claiming each vowel. “Mo- Kit, do you want to die?”  
  
“Everyday,” and really, it’s such an easy answer, “every single day since you did, I have.”  
  
Acid green eyes slide shut and Anathema looks like they’re about to cry. They take in another shaky breath, cool palm sliding against Kit’s jaw, “okay.” The word cracks in half, like it can’t be pieced together. Kind of like Kit.  
  
They say, “okay, Kit, you just rest now.”  
  
Anathema’s voice trembles. It’s never done that before. But Anathema is asking them to rest, so they will. If it makes Anathema happy, they’d happily oblige. So they close their eye and let themself drift. Anathema is here, everything will be okay.

* * *

They wake up to shouting. Or at least incredibly loud complaining. They blink blearily, head feeling tighter than it should, the immense pressure not lifting as they try to take in what’s happening above them.

Judas...It’s Judas yelling at the dear doctor from down the street. But why…?  
  
“And I’m telling you to put it on my fucking tab, Jekyll! Why the fuck are you so damn persistent on making them pay the whole damn price?!” He’s pushing now, getting into the taller man’s face. Jekyll, Charles ‘Jekyll’ Galeotti, is stone-faced and unmoving in his sentiment, even as Judas snarls at him so fiercely that for a moment, Kit feels like a cub watching its mother, “they’re barely able to make fucking rent, so why won’t you let me pay for this?”

“Because I know _what_ they are, dear brother.” Oh. They’re brothers, they don’t look it. Oh, wait. The doctor says he knows what they are. Hmm, troubling. Kit wants to butt in, saying how they’re a lot of things (a monster, a murderer, a fool) but their throat is too dry, only letting out the barest of croaks.

The doctor’s eyes are unflinchingly cold as he stares down at them, the lack of light and pity reminding them of themself. Good, they think, still half delirious, they don’t need any pity. They just need—

“Here, kid,” water, Judas’ hand trembling as he hands them the glass. Charles looks disgusted behind him, but Kit isn’t complaining. Kit _can’t_ complain, their throat is too dry. So they take the glass with shaky fingers, dry lips pressing against its clear surface in a way that makes their teeth ache a moment. Judas sits, carefully placing his weight on the mattress, they can feel how he doesn’t really know how to take care of someone, his mind more focused on moneymoneymoney- Moony.

They blink.

“Take a sip,” he mumbles, raising an eyebrow, nudging the glass a bit, water sloshing inside, “I’ve got you, kid.” He nods, dirty blonde hair falling over his eyes as he cracks an off looking smile.

It’s weird. Having someone care and not watch them die yet. Anathema lasted a year, Lila lasted three months. Would they have to watch Judas die too? With the way the doctor, his own brother, glares at him, their half-awake brain moves to protect him because _he cares_. But they’re so weak right now, no strength and at his mercy, so they drink. They let the cold wash over them, let it settle in their stomach. They can only take half the glass, but Judas doesn’t push. He only silently stares at Charles, at his brother, at the doctor before them, an air of intimidation settling on his shoulders.  
  
“Put it on my tab,” Judas says. The clink of the glass set against the floor sounds more like a final warning than anything else. “I don’t care about what you seem so biased against, Charles, but they are _my_ tenant and you are _my_ brother, so put it on my tab and I’ll pay you back later.”

The doctor- Charles’ face twists up like he’s just bitten into a lemon. He stares a hole into them and they can only stare back. They didn’t ask for his help, but Judas did and they feel like that’s the only thing keeping him here.

“Fine,” he grits between clenched teeth and Kit can’t tell if the relief they feel is Judas’ or their own. It exhausts them, their eyelids already feeling so heavy once again. So they let themself slump against their landlord, let him wrap a cautious arm around them and they drift, his touch so soft and gentle-

It almost feels like Lila, or like Anathema, that gentle ruffling of their hair.

It’s the last thing they feel before sleep takes them and they know that for now, they’d be okay with seeing one more sunrise as long as Judas is with them.


End file.
